


Eulogy

by Devilbaby



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:39:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4524117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilbaby/pseuds/Devilbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: Irene dies right in front of Holmes' eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eulogy

When Watson finally found him he was sitting on the scaffolding of the half constructed Tower bridge and the look on his face told him everything. He held her in his arms, cradled in a way neither of them would have allowed if she'd been alive and he stared out over the water, gaze unfocused and terribly far away.

Below them Lord Blackwood swung in slow, lazy circles over the Thames.

Watson took a seat beside his friend, leg aching as he lowered himself onto the wooden planks, and said nothing. He did not say he was sorry - it was a useless platitude, the sort Holmes had always disliked and the doctor felt certain he would not appreciate it now - nor did he ask what had happened; it was plain enough. Her blood was still on his hands, drying rust brown beneath his fingernails. 

Holmes barely acknowledged him, a slight shift of his head the only sign his presence had been noted at all, but that was all right. That was fine. If the detective wished for silence, then silence was what Watson would provide.

Instead he bowed his head and offered a quiet prayer for the woman's soul. He had never liked Adler, never trusted her and she seemed to bring out only the worst qualities in his friend, but Holmes had loved her - as far, Watson supposed, as Holmes was capable of loving anyone - and for that alone he wished her to be at peace.

He wondered what would be left of heaven's golden streets once Irene got through with them.

"They'll be stripped bare." Said Holmes quietly, voice rough and Watson, long used to his friend's uncanny knack of plucking the thoughts from his head, was only surprised that he had spoken at all. "The gates too, I expect." And here he looked at Watson with a small smile that nearly broke the doctor's heart. "Pearls," he explained, one hand petting her hair gently, "she liked pearls." Watson closed his eyes. 

Silence. It was so quiet up here, so far away from the noise and chaos of the city below. Watson watched tombstone grey clouds as they boiled in the distance.

"A storm's coming." It was an innocent enough statement but to Watson, who knew him so well, it only highlighted how very near Holmes was to breaking. _The day Sherlock Holmes is reduced to commenting on the weather_ he thought grimly. Out loud he said only;

"We have a moment." More than that, really. Watson was prepared to sit on the damn bridge as long as Holmes wished to and hang the weather. He'd been soaked for lesser causes.

"Moriarty."

"Hmm?"

"His name's Moriarty, and he _is_ a professor." He looked down, and Watson pretended not to notice the crack in his voice as he added, "She told me that much before..." Something pushed it's way up from inside him and he buried his face in her hair as his body was wracked by one great, shuddering sob.

Watson could only watch, feeling heartsick and wretched and utterly useless. He was not in the practice of providing Holmes comfort; the detective had never sought his solace for anything, nor accepted it on the rare occasion it had been offered.

It was not what they did.

He placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, the barest of consolations yet the only one he thought might not be rejected outright. But the moment was already passing and Holmes, though still trembling beneath his touch, was calming. "We should be going," he said rather hastily, sounding embarrassed, "the Yard-"

But Watson was firm. "The Yard can wait." He had kept his hand on Holmes shoulder and used it now to anchor the man in place, all too aware of how little effort it took. "Blackwood's not going anywhere." He didn't ask how Miss Adler's killer came to be dangling by a chain 100 feet above the river. There would be time enough for all that later.

"No, no I suppose not." Holmes settled at this, and to Watson's great surprise he leaned into him. resting his head on his shoulder. Long minutes passed before he spoke again, voice heavy with exhaustion. "I'm going miss her, John."

And Watson replied sadly, "Yes."


End file.
